


Trick-or-Trials of Being an Older Brother

by Zoeleo



Series: Rara Avis [12]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Discussion of Homophobic Slurs, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Gen, Halloween, Or Bruce adopts Jason but doesn't make him Robin, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12524236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoeleo/pseuds/Zoeleo
Summary: Halloween in Gotham can always use a helping hand. Nightwing swings into town to help Batman keep things under control. He's less than happy to find that while he's busy on patrol, someoneelseis taking his little brother and his new friend out Trick-or-Treating. Jealousy leads to high-spirited hijinks and some life lessons learned."You know, if I’d known we were doing coordinated costumes - I rock a great Slave-Leia!” Dick shouts after Bruce.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEN EVERYONE! Hope everyone enjoys themselves during this most magical (my personal favorite) holiday! I don't know about you, but I'm rocking pre-crisis Robin this year - complete with SCALY PANTIES. _oH BaBY!_ Stay safe and have fun!

The rider wends his way up the empty road in the twilight of the dying day. Dressed in black he fades into the gloaming-muted hills. Only the gleam of the rising gibbous moon catching on the arcs and sleek undulations of the bike beneath him, gives him away when he banks into a turn. He reaches the hidden fork and slows to an idle. Does he announce his arrival? Or sneak in the back door like a thief in the night?

He’s not supposed to come ‘home.’ He’s here out of obligation, duty. And though his heart yearns for the warm yellow radiance spilling over the front steps and being welcomed in by arms young and old, _those he would die for_ , that’s not his lot tonight. With a twist of the handlebars he abandons the main road and disappears from sight.

The entrance of the cave looms before him, an ominous gaping maw ready to swallow him whole into its gullet. He shivers despite himself, despite knowing it’s just an illusion, an optical trick of the landscape. He descends into its depths, there’s a split-second of pitch blackness, then he curves sharply to the right and into a natural stone hewn chamber washed in the sickly green cast of fluorescent lights. He rolls to a stop, parking the Spitfire between a lethally outfitted ink-black supercar and what appears to be a partially deconstructed tank.

It’s eerily quiet, the colony must have already departed for the night. The absence of their familiar rustling only emphasizes the occasional lonely drip that echoes now that the motor has fallen silent. Dick doffs his helmet and lets it hang from the handlebars. His eyes flick up the steel staircase to the main platform, illuminated by the blue glow of the computer banks. His steps clash loudly on the metal as he charges up without thought of stealth or training.

He spares a moment to reach out a hand and rub Teddy T-Rex’s toe in passing. The spot has been worn smooth, silver metal showing through green paint, where it’s been touched at the beginning and end of every mission through the years. Though Bruce would vehemently deny any superstitious inclinations, Dick’s also noticed that he’s never failed to miss giving Teddy a perfunctory tap.

At the top of the reinforced platform, Dick is alone. He turns in a slow circle, assuming Bruce must be at another station, restocking his utility belt or doing a safety check on his grappling gun if he’s not at his post in front of the console. But it’s not just the rolling chair that’s empty. Dick’s brow furrows. Bruce is usually the one ready to go, arms crossed over his chest as he waits for Dick to arrive for the initial briefing. Dick always feels like Bruce is vaguely disappointed at his tardiness, regardless of whether he was late or not.

Bruce not being here is just… odd.

Especially on tonight of all nights. Halloween has all of Dick’s favorite things in spades: sweets, outrageous costumes, and a flamboyant showman quality that hangs in the air like magic. He hates it. Because Halloween is Gotham’s very own Purge – when all of the lowest, most vicious, malignant dregs of society try to make their mark on the city. It especially appeals to the ridiculous egos of the special Gotham brand of rogues like Joker, Riddler, Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter.

Dick can’t remember a single Halloween that has passed without incident, and he’s been Robin since he was nine years old. So even when he and Bruce were at their worst, Dick would still make his way back to Gotham just for the night, putting aside his pride and anger to keep the city from ripping itself apart.

Dick glances around the cave suspiciously. No alarms are blaring. The area is neat and undisturbed. He checks the computer and sifts through the security feeds. Movement catches his eye. It’s from the camera in the main foyer. He brings it to full screen and immediately discerns the three full-grown figures milling around. No faces. Two are wearing masks, and the third is facing away from the camera. Half a second later he glimpses Jason amongst them. His jaw drops.

_What the fu—_

He has to be dreaming. He rubs his eyes and leans forward, squinting, but the composition remains the same. Dear god. He leaps up from the chair, leaving it spinning in his wake. He’s about to fly up the steps into the manor proper, but he’s stopped when he realizes he’s not supposed to even be there tonight. At least not to Jason’s knowledge. It’d be difficult to explain how he’d materialized in the house without leaving his bike in the civilian garage or coming in the service or front doors.

He falls back into the chair and observes while Alfred directs Darth Vader, a Stormtrooper, and a pint-sized Han Solo onto the grand staircase for a photo-op. They routinely switch into different poses; Jason shooting at Vader while the Trooper sprawls out dead across the bottom steps, Jason standing three-steps up from Vader clutching his neck like he’s being choked, Jason attacking Vader with his own lightsaber. After the play-acting, the Trooper and Vader remove their helmets and grin for a quick series of casual photos.

Dick isn’t surprised to find Bruce lurking under the Darth Vader helmet. It could have only been him filling out the black armor and cape with his build. He doesn’t recognize the Stormtrooper. Sandy hair in a crew cut with the beginnings of a beard. Tall and fit, but not as broad as Bruce. Handles a toy blaster a little too familiarly. Everything together screams ex-military at Dick. This must be Riley. Dick frowns, watching the bodyguard muss his baby brother’s hair. That’s _his_ move.

Before he can get too distracted by that line of thought, he notices Alfred disappear out of frame for a few seconds. When he edges back in, he’s leading another small boy onto the steps with the others. The boy looks down at his feet and bites his lip shyly, like he’s embarrassed but pleased to be included. Has Bruce collected another orphan since he’s been gone?

The kid is tiny, about the same size Jason was when Bruce found him. Dick zooms in on the boy’s face. His cheeks don’t have that hollow look Jason’s did though, so Dick guesses he’s a few years younger rather than malnourished. Something about his face nags at Dick. Dick is sure he’s seen this kid somewhere before, he just can’t remember where. The fake mustache isn’t helping. Dick wonders who he’s supposed to be. The boy is dressed in a suit with his hair parted down the middle and is holding some sort of copper rod.

Dick leans back in the chair and kicks his feet up on the console. He taps his fingers on the armrests impatiently while there’s another round of photos taken. Then finally, _finally_ , Bruce excuses himself and makes his farewells – a handshake with Riley, a high-five with the mystery kid, and a hug and kiss pecked onto the top of Jason’s head. Dick counts exactly 127 seconds before Bruce breezes into the cave, mouth still curved into a soft smile.

“Well, that looked like fun,” Dick comments. 

It comes out sounding more snide than he meant it to. Bruce’s eyes widen a fraction before his face smoothes into a far blander expression.

“It was fun. Riley is taking the boys Trick-or-Treating,” Bruce replies mechanically. 

“I noticed. Who’s the new kid?”

“Timothy Drake. He’s a friend of Jason’s from school. Get your feet off the desk.”

Dick glares at the command but pointedly removes his feet back to the floor.

“Just checking. Wasn’t sure if you’d picked up another stray or what.”

Bruce narrows his eyes, gaze as sharp and cutting as glass.

“Would you have a problem if I did?” he asks. His voice is cold and clipped.

“No.” Dick shakes his head. “No, I just—just hope you would let me know if you did, instead of me finding out on accident more than a month after the fact. Again.”

Dick hadn’t meant to start a fight. He just can’t help himself sometimes though.

“Is this about something, Dick? Because if not, I’d like to start the briefing.”

Dick’s face twists into an ugly grimace at Bruce’s dismissive tone.

“I’m just surprised, is all. That you’re letting him go out Trick-or-Treating. We never did that.”

Bruce cocks his head in surprise. “You never wanted to. When I asked, you were adamant that if you were in costume you’d much rather go patrolling and ‘protect the city’… Are you really upset because I didn’t take you Trick-or-Treating when you were a child?” he asks incredulously.

“No!” Dick grunts in frustration, “I guess—I guess I just supposed if Jason got to go Trick-or-Treating, I would be the one who gets to take him!” Dick crosses his arms over his chest and stares at his shoes.

“Dick,” Bruce sighs and approaches him. He lays a hand on his shoulder. “I understand. I wish I was taking him myself. But I have to make an appearance at the—”

“I know, the Edgar Allen Poe _Un_ -happy Hour at the Gotham Public Library Fundraiser,” Dick fills in sullenly.

“And while I’m there, I need you keeping an eye on the city until I can get away. Batman needs Nightwing more than Jason needs you tonight.”

“I know,” Dick concedes unhappily. “But… are you sure it’s a good idea? Letting them go out? You know how dangerous Halloween can be here.”

Bruce gives Dick’s shoulder a squeeze and his face loses its severity.

“They won’t be going into the city. Riley is taking them out to one of the suburbs south of Gotham. I trust him to keep them safe. And there are trackers on Riley’s truck and in Jason’s shoes. And there’s a biofeedback reader hidden in his vest.”

Dick opens his mouth to issue a counter point, but Bruce holds up his hand silencing him.

“Besides, this is probably Jason’s last chance to go. He’s already a bit old for it.”

Dick closes his mouth unhappily. He’s run out of arguments. Bruce has gotten way better at this talking-things-out parenting thing since it was just him and Bruce.

“Okay. Okay. I guess it’s time to brief and head out then.”

Bruce nods and snaps into business-mode and pulls up a map of the city on-screen.

“I’ll be at the Poe’s Unhappy Hour until at least eleven o’clock, unless an emergency breaks out. You’ll patrol the Southern half of the city in our standard split route while Batgirl handles the Northern half. Alfred will man the computer while the boys are gone and notify you of any incidents that crop up. Once the party is over I’ll head wherever you need help most. Joker and Dent are behind bars but Harley has been MIA and Ivy broke out three weeks ago. Potential hotspots to keep a close eye on are: the City Hall Jack O’Lantern Lighting, the Masquerade Rave in the Diamond District, and of course the Poe Party. I’ll have an earpiece in all night. Don’t forget to carry extra antidotes for toxin, venom, and pollen for civilians who’ve been exposed if there’s an outbreak. If all goes well, regroup at 3:30 and head home,” Bruce rattles off seriously.

“Of course,” Dick nods and grasps Bruce’s forearm. “Hey, be safe tonight Bruce.”

“You too, Dick.”

Bruce turns and heads for the shortcut to the civilian garage.

“Hey! Wait!” Dick shouts after him.

Bruce halts and looks over his shoulder.

“You forgot your suit!” Dick laughs and points to the case where the Batsuit still stands.

Bruce’s lip twitches.

“I’m good actually.”

He raps his knuckles on his chest plate and Dick peers more closely at Bruce’s costume for the party. The glowing control panel on Vader’s torso cleverly rests over where the Bat crest would be on what Dick now realizes is one of Bruce’s old suits. The man has upcycled an old Batman suit into a Halloween costume, cape and all.

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me,” he whispers to himself. “You know, if I’d known we were doing coordinated costumes - I rock a great Slave-Leia!” he shouts after Bruce.

Bruce’s laughter echoes back to him, “You should have kept the mullet, you’d make a better wookie!”


	2. Chapter 2

They say if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life. Riley had thought jumping out of planes was fun. The fact he’s going to get paid for dressing up in costume and going Trick-or-Treating, is just ridiculous. God, he loves his life. He parallel parks his truck (no easy feat but he’s had a couple years of practice now navigating it through crooked Gotham streets) along the side of the neighborhood park and helps Tim down, his legs too short to reach the running board, while Jason leaps from the passenger’s side.

“Whooaa,” Jason breathes out in awe.

The fence around the park has been strung with twinkling orange and purple lights. Diaphanous ghosts and spider webs are strung between the lampposts and trees. Tables are set up in the street, blocked off from traffic by reflective partitions. Costumed adults and children swarm around them participating in different crafts beneath the glow of paper jack-o-lanterns. A band is set up in the cul-de-sac playing _Monster Mash._

“ _Brandywine Boo-Bash_ ,” Jason reads aloud, he turns to Riley, “What _is_ this? How did you know about this?”

“It’s a block party the neighborhood throws every year. I ah,” Riley bites his lip, “I have a friend who lives here, we went a few years back. Look fun?”

Jason cackles, “This is awesome! What are they doing over there?”

He points to the tables. Riley rises up on his toes to peer through the crowd.

“Uh, looks like they’re carving pumpkins. I think there’s a carving contest before everyone heads out to Trick-or-Treat. Let’s go check it out.”

Riley ushers his two charges towards the tables. He can’t decide which is more amusing: Jason’s running commentary on how _awesome_ everything is, or Tim’s silent open-mouthed wonder. The pair balanced each other out. At first Riley was afraid Jason would steamroll right over Tim in their distinctly odd-couple friendship, but Tim seems more than content to let Jason take the lead. When he does speak up, Jason always stops and gives Tim his full attention.

Riley directs them towards a half empty table and lets the boys run off to pick a pumpkin out of a pile. Jason grabs the biggest one he can carry, while Tim sorts through several before carefully selecting a perfectly symmetrical and unblemished specimen. The table shakes when Jason drops his with a thump. He grins, and before Riley knows what’s going on there’s a metallic flash and Jason’s stabbing into the pumpkin with a pocket knife.

“Whoa, easy there Jason! What is that?”

“What?” Jason looks up perplexed.

“ _That_ ,” Riley nods to the knife.

Jason’s brow furrows.

“It’s a knife,” he enunciates the three words slowly as if explaining to a child.

Riley closes his eyes, and takes a breath. “I know it’s a knife, Jason. Why do you have a knife with you?”

Jason shrugs and focuses really hard on the red checked plastic table covering, “I always have a knife with me.”

“You’re not allowed to have a knife at school,” Tim pipes up softly.

“Yeah, and I wasn’t allowed to have a knife at my old school either and lookit how well that worked out,” Jason sneers. “I’m not making that mistake again.”

Riley swallows. Of course he knew about the kidnapping--It was the whole reason he’d been hired. Bruce had filled him in about the incident during his interview. But this is the first time he’s heard Jason talk about it.

“Alright, look,” Riley says, placating, “I won’t say anything about you having it. But I’m going to make it a rule that it’s only for emergencies. Now, put it away before one of these soccer moms sees and throws a fit, okay?”

Jason purses his lips, but he pulls the blade free, flips it closed and tucks it into his pants pocket.

“So now what?” Jason asks sullenly.

Riley pushes an assortment of orange-handled safety saws across the table to him. Five minutes later Riley is biting his lip to keep the swears in while he uses the stupid flimsy cutters to take the tops off Jason and Tim’s pumpkins. Tim’s hadn’t been too bad, but the tiny toothed metal stick is barely long enough to make it all the way through the flesh of Jason’s brobdingnagian pumpkin.

“Bet it sure would be nice if you had a knife right now, wouldn’t it?” Jason drawls as he watches Riley’s efforts.

Riley doesn’t bother to respect that with an answer, instead leveling Jason with the long-suffering glare he’d perfected years ago on his little sister Julia. Finally the top comes free with a crisp wet wrench. Jason digs into his pumpkin gleefully, scraping out the innards like a mad scientist performing a slap-dash lobotomy. Tim eyes the interior of his pumpkin warily. He sticks a hand inside and pulls it back distastefully at the slick strings webbing the hollow interior. Riley heaves another hefty sigh and de-seeds the pumpkin for him. He wonders if it’s a rich city-kid thing, or just a Tim thing. Once it’s been cleaned out he hands the pumpkin back to Tim and helps Jason carve into his.

They manage a pretty decent take on the traditional jack-o-lantern puking seeds onto the table. He tries sneaking glimpses at Tim’s, but can never quite make out what the younger boy is up to. Instead of using the serrated blades, he has an awl that he’s punching into the pumpkin seemingly at random. It’s not until the very end when Tim starts to connect the dots with a linoleum cutter that Riley comprehends what he’s done: he’s carved an intricate map of constellations across the vegetal globe. It’s no surprise when his and Jason’s doesn’t win any prizes, but Riley thinks Tim’s shocked smile might break his face in half when he’s awarded a purple ribbon with ‘ _Honorable Mention_ ’ printed in gold on it.

They trek back to the truck. Riley lifts the pumpkin behemoth over the tailgate to drop it in the bed, but is stopped by a tug on his armor.

“What’s up?” he asks.

Jason licks his lip nervously.

“Are they going to be okay back there?”

“What do you mean?”

Jason fidgets, “I mean… Do you think maybe we should keep them up front? Where it’s safe?”

“Where it’s safe?” Riley laughs. “What do you think is going to happen, Jase?”

“It’s just…” Jason looks longingly at his pumpkin in Riley’s arms. “When I was little I always wanted to make one. But why waste money on something that doesn’t keep you warm or you can’t eat, right? ‘Cept one year, Mom had a little extra money so we got a pumpkin and we spent all night working on it – it was a cat in a moon and it had whiskers and everything and the next morning someone had smashed it and…”

Tim gives a little gasp of horror and clutches his pumpkin closer to his chest. Riley’s heart sinks. He feels belated guilt ghost down his spine looking into Jason’s wide and anxious eyes. He remembers being sixteen and driving down the street in the back of John Dabney’s pick-up with the other first string players, passing around a bottle of Jack and stealing pumpkins off porches to throw on the asphalt, laughing when they exploded into bright chunks against the tarry road. _Christ, this kid’s going to be the death of him_. He pulls his keys out of a pouch on his utility belt and unlocks the cab. He doesn’t even have newspaper to lay down and keep the floorboards clean...

Only once the jack-o-lanterns have been safely stashed in the foot well do they head out on their real mission for the night. Riley is tempted to keep one hand on Jason’s shoulder the whole night – his ward has demonstrated a distressing tendency to run ahead, but with Tim there Jason reins himself in to keep pace with the shorter boy’s strides. He keeps a close eye on the boys, never letting them get more than ten steps ahead of him, and on the other Trick-or-Treaters walking down the road with them.

The professional in him gives every adult a quick once-over, assessing their build, focus, and looking for any bulges that may bely a hidden weapon on them. The less professional side measures their kids against his two in a running cuteness competition. Despite being some of the older kids out tonight, Riley doesn’t think his eyes are lying to him that Jason and Tim’s treat bags are weighed down ever-so-slightly heavier than those of the families around them. He chalks it up to a mix of Jason’s charming crooked-grin and Tim’s bashful politeness.

At the end of the second street he’s carrying Tim’s bag for him when it becomes clear that the young boy is struggling with its weight. By the end of the third, even Jason’s enthusiasm is starting to flag. He manages to talk them into one last circuit, his heart beating slightly faster at the thought. Anticipation wars with nervousness every lot they come closer to the house with the green porch light. He could walk up that driveway blindfolded.

Jason and Tim scamper up the steps, oblivious to his raging internal crisis. Before good sense can catch up to him and call the boys back, suggest maybe they skip onto the next house, they’ve already rung the doorbell. It swings open, revealing a tall slim man in a burgundy brocade dinner jacket. Rings drip from his brown fingers and glittering chains of gold and semi-precious beads wreathe his neck. Subtle gold shimmer highlights sharp cheekbones and the smudged kohl around his eyes draws attention to the cat-eye contact lenses he’s wearing.

“Wow. Pretty,” Tim whispers.

Riley almost laughs when the boy goes cross-eyed in an attempt to stare at his own mouth, flummoxed by its grievous betrayal. Almost. Except Riley’s having a hard time catching his breath too. The man tips his head down to take in the trio on his porch and his lips curl into a feline grin.

“Trick’r Treat!” Jason belts once he realizes Tim’s gone shy and it’s up to him.

“Well blast my heart and call me a nerf-herder, never thought I’d have Han Solo on my steps,” the man welcomes him. He turns to Tim and narrows his eyes. “Or… I’m sorry, dear, but who are you supposed to be?”

“Nobody’s guessed it yet,” Tim’s shoulders sag mournfully.

“He’s Nikola Tesla, only like one of the most famous scientists ever,” Jason defends his friend. “What are _you_ supposed to be?”

The man bows with a flourish of his hands. “I’m a warlock.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be some type of wizard? You don’t look like a wizard to me,” Jason huffs, unimpressed.

The man laughs and tips his head to the side. “I guess I’m a different kind of wizard then. There's more than just the Hogwarts kind, you know.”

Riley thinks he could drown in the rich sound. At last the man’s eyes turn to him. His lips curl up even higher and one defined eyebrow arches dramatically.

“Aren’t you a little short for a Stormtrooper?”

“Short? I’m six-- _Oh_ ,” Riley chokes.

“It’s good to see you, Riley.”

“Hey, Raj,” Riley answers dreamily.

“I know it’s a been a while, but it hasn’t been that long – these two aren’t yours are they?” Raj points to Tim and Jason.

“Huh? Oh! No. Uh, Raj this is Jason, I work for his father. And this is Tim, their neighbor.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances.” Raj gives each of the boys a handshake and holds out a black plastic cauldron full of candy to them. “Go ahead and take what you like,” he encourages them. “The night is winding down and friends of Riley’s are friends of mine. Speaking of… Riley, how long have you been back in town?”

Riley is caught unawares when Raj’s attention is turned back to him, “Oh. Uh, six—no seven months now. Yeah.”

“Seven months and this is the first I hear from you?”

_All the angels in heaven,_ Riley hopes Raj can’t see his blush under the green light.

“Sorry, I—I’ve been busy.” Riley shrugs apologetically. “New job, and Julia just had her first baby—a little girl, they named her Jamie-Lynn, and—sorry.” Riley’s shoulders hunch forward.

“Well, are you going to be sticking around long?” Raj asks lightly.

“Yeah, I’m back for good actually. Got an apartment on Merchant, real close to the subway station. Took out a full year’s lease and everything.”

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around then.”

Not a question. That’s the Raj he remembers, so much confidence. But then why wouldn’t he be confident? He’s just the most beautiful and intelligent man Riley’s ever met.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you. You look good, by the way. I mean—You look like you’re doing good. Doing well,” Riley stammers.

Jason clears his throat. Oh. Yeah. Work. Children. Candy.

“Well, I guess we better be moving on. More houses to loot an’ all.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder.

Raj dips his head.

“Of course. And I need to get back to my party. Tim, Jason, it was lovely meeting you. Do me a favor and keep this Imperial riffraff out of trouble?” Raj winks at them.

Riley is suddenly aware of the music and laughter emanating from the open doorway behind Raj.

“Oh. Yeah, can’t keep the host from his own party. House might get burned down,” Riley titters awkwardly.

Jason comes to his rescue, taking him by the elbow and leading him down the porch steps and back onto the brick path that connects to the sidewalk. Jason doesn’t let go until they reach the mailbox. The relief is short-lived.

“So was that like your boyfriend or something?” he asks.

“What?” Riley yelps. “No. Hah. No, Raj is… He’s my ex-boyfriend. We’re not together anymore.”

“He’s very pretty,” Tim assures him with a pat on his arm.

It’s darker than when they started. Houses are starting to turn off their porch lights as the crowd of Trick-or-Treaters thins. Riley spies the same family of four a block ahead of them, all dressed as condiments, that have been walking with them all night. There’s a couple with a toddler dressed like a piece of sushi on the other side of the street. He looks behind them and is surprised to find no one there. He had really thought there were at least three other groups of Trick-or-Treaters behind them. Had they really spent that long at Raj’s? He glances over his shoulder perplexed. It _feels_ like there’s still someone behind them.

“Huh. Didn’t have you pegged for a fag,” Jason quips.

Riley freezes. “What did you just say?” His voice comes out harsh and discordant.

“I mean it’s cool if you are or whatever, I just wouldn’t have guessed it,” Jason continues obliviously.

“No, not that. What did you call me?”

“Call you what?” Jason pauses mid-step.

“You called him a fag,” Tim explains, his tone hushed.

“So?” Jason shrugs. “He is a fag. He’s a dude who likes other dudes. That’s what that means.” 

He moves forward. Riley grabs him by the arm. Not hard, just enough to keep him from walking away, but Jason jumps and stares at his hand. Bad move. Bruce had given him the general run down of how Jason came to be with him, but hadn’t gone into the nitty-gritty of Jason’s life on the streets. Riley’s not sure if Jason was ever physically abused or not, but he should know better than touching him after using that tone of voice. Riley lets go, chastising himself internally for not controlling his reaction to the hurt and anger at hearing those words come out of his charge’s mouth.

“Jason, you can’t say that. Fag is a really offensive word,” he corrects gently, trying to counter his earlier vehemence.

Jason scoffs dismissively, “No it’s not.”

“It’s just as bad as calling a black person the ‘N’ word. You’d never say that to Mr. Fox, would you?”

“No, of course not! But 'fag' isn’t like that. Everyone uses it!”

Riley crouches down so he can look Jason in the eyes without looming over him. “No, everyone doesn’t. Where did you hear that word?”

“Everyone!” Jason shouts, spreading his arms in exasperation. “My dad, Troy, the guys mom brought home, the guy who worked the news stand! That’s what they called the dudes on the corner who screwed men with the girls!”

Riley winces. Great. Jason’s only reference point for this is prostitutes. 

“Jason, they were being derogatory and crude,” he tries to convince the boy.

But Jason shakes his head. “It’s just a word,” he whines, little lines creasing the corners of his mouth anxiously as he starts to realize he’s on the wrong side of the argument.

“Words are important, Jason. I know you know that. You like English class too much not to. You’re the only thirteen year old I’ve ever met who uses the word ‘pestiferous.’ ”

Jason turns to Tim for validation, but the younger boy solemnly opens his mouth.

“The word fag comes from the word faggot, which means a bundle of sticks used for firewood. The church used to call heretics, and women they thought were witches, and homosexuals faggots, because they burned them alive like they were firewood,” he recites.

“Um. Thanks, Tim,” Riley gives him a light pat. 

He’s not sure this is the best time for a morbid history lesson but he appreciates the back-up. Something in what Tim says though must strike a chord, because even in the dark, Riley can see Jason go pale. His bottom lip and chin wobbles.

“I didn’t know that,” he rasps.

“I know,” Riley reassures him, “But now that you do, you can’t keep using that word anymore, okay?”

“I’m sorry, Riley. I’m really sorry—I didn’t mean to. I didn’t—I don’t care if you’re a f—gay or not.”

Jason’s eyes are rimmed in red and getting puffy around the edges as if any second he’s going to start crying.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know any better. You’re a good kid, Jason. I could never think otherwise. You know what? It’s been a long night, I think maybe it’s time to head home.”

He stands and cautiously telegraphs his move before slinging an arm across Jason’s shoulders. The boy allows it and he turns them around to begin the long trek back to the truck. Tim goes to Jason’s other side and takes his hand. Jason sniffs between the two of them, wiping his sleeve across his nose to muffle the noise.

“When we get back to the house, I want to go through your candy first before y’all start gobbling it down. But I’m sure Alfred will let you have some hot cider and maybe even one of those caramel apples y’all were dipping earlier,” Riley promises, trying to lighten the mood.

They’re still three blocks from the car when Riley becomes sure that they’re being followed.


	3. Chapter 3

This Halloween it’s Mad Hatter with zombiefying nanites in the club scene of the Diamond District. When the hell did his life turn into a game of CLUE? Dick shakes his head and checks the read out on his wrist for the time, 11:03. Bruce ducked out of the Poe Unhappy Hour to meet him around 10:30 when a horde of mini-skirt clad Disney princesses started trying to nom on their princes and then the rest of the populace. That had been a new one. Thankfully the durable material of his suit didn’t tear between their teeth, but he’s going to have some interesting bruises tomorrow.

11:03… With Tetch put away, things had gotten quiet. And with Babs patrolling the North, and Bruce still here in the South half of the city, Dick could sneak away for a few without raising too much ire. If he’s quick about it Bruce may not even notice… Yeah, right. Dick glances at the time again, 11:04 now. His mouth twitches. He taps the comm in his ear.

“Hey B?”

 _“Copy, Nightwing._ ”

“Since things seem under control, I think I’m going to check out some leads at Dixon Docks I have that connect back to that Bludhaven case I was telling you about?” He winces, hating the way his voice tilts up unintentionally. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

There’s a long torturous pause before Bruce finally replies. Dick can hear his dissatisfaction in the silence. Dick made the mistake of declaring his attention to enroll in the Bludhaven Police Academy once he graduates with his degree in Criminal Justice last time he came home over dinner. Bruce’s expression had remained perfectly neutral but Dick doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the disappointment in Bruce’s voice when he said, ‘ _I thought you were going to come home and join the GCPD. Gordon’s said he’d put in a good word for you_.’ 

When the carefully planned monologue on how Dick couldn’t operate under Bruce’s shadow his whole life had fallen on deaf ears, he’d moved on to enumerating how Bludhaven corruption left unchecked was just providing a haven for all the scum Bruce chased out of Gotham to flourish, like mold in a damp dark cupboard. Of course that was the argument that had grabbed Bruce’s interest. Ever since Dick has been compiling a prospective operations guide on all the organized crime, double-dealing public servants, and how he plans to dismantle it.

_“Don’t stray too far. Just because we got Tetch early doesn’t mean someone else won’t try something tonight.”_

“Copy. Nightwing, out.”

It’s not exactly a ruse… Dick is intending on stopping by Dixon Docks to stop a small-time deal on stolen electronics coming in from Bludhaven tonight. It’s just not his end-game. Two trucks, five guys, six minutes and he’s got them all zip-tied neat and pretty for the GCPD. He lingers over the last man who’s cursing up a storm through his balaclava.

“What the fuck you looking at asshole!” he snarls.

Dick tilts his head to the side, “Hey, what size pants do you wear?”

“Huh?”

“Your pants. What size are they?”

“Why the fuck you wanna know that? You freaking perv!”

Dick rolls his eyes under his makes and gives the man a solid swat on the collar bone with his escrima.

“Fuck! What did you—Why? 32-34?” the criminal whines.

Dick sighs, “Eh, I guess that’ll have to do.”

“Hey, what?!”

Dick strikes the man in the temple and strips him. He shoves the balaclava in the back jeans pocket and checks his wrist again, 11:17. He does some mental math. Yeah, he can make it to where Jason’s tracker is showing in less than twenty-minutes. He cobbles a slap-dash plan together in his head on the way.

He’ll track them down, put the thug’s clothes on over his suit, follow at a safe distance, then stage a pretend mugging. No one will actually be in danger, and he’ll get to test Riley out – see if he’s actually worthy of protecting Little Wing – before flipping into the shadows and making his escape back to the city and continuing patrol. No harm, no foul, no one the wiser. It’s got drama and flare and a dash of tongue-in-cheek subterfuge that sounds like something Wally would cook up. Bruce would absolutely hate it.

He tries to find an innocuous side street to park the bike in, but it’s harder than anticipated out here where the houses are spaced apart far enough to have actual yards. He ends up stashing the bike behind what looks like a community pool house on the other side of the park from Riley’s truck, according to the tracer. Dick hangs his helmet from the handlebars and quickly pulls on the jacket and jeans he’d lifted off the crook from the docks over his Nightwing suit. He sniffs the balaclava and wrinkles his nose.

“Ugh, gross.”

He shoves it back in his pocket. There’s no real need to put it on now anyhow. It can wait until he’s closer to his goal. He checks on Jason’s coordinates. According to the blip on his wrist computer, they’re about a half mile to his west. Not moving. His mouth quirks down at the corner. They’re supposed to be moving right? Going from house to house? Is it still Trick-or-Treating time? Seems a bit late in his opinion for kids to be running around. It’s probably no big deal. Maybe they stopped to tie shoelaces. Or took a break to sit and count candy. Still, better safe than sorry. He’ll just check on them from afar first, and gauge the situation.

He moves smooth and sedately, sticking to the shadows – which is harder than he thought it would be. _Man,_ this neighborhood takes Halloween seriously. There are almost as many lights strung over the houses and trees as for Christmas. A muted bleep draws his attention back to the read out on his wrist. It’s Jason’s biofeedback reader. His pulse has ratcheted up a smidge, oxygen intake gone a shade spotty. Nothing alarming. Still well within acceptable parameters. Heck, it could just as easily be excitement as stress. Nothing to be worried about. Nothing at all. Dick taps his fingers against his thigh.

Shit. Dick picks up his pace. He ends up ducking behind a giant inflatable cauldron on someone’s lawn. Ahead, he can just make out three figures. The porch light of a nearby house glows green on the planes and curves of a Stormtrooper’s armor. Riley is crouching, facing Jason while… Tim? Yeah, Tim, stands off to the side. Jason raises an arm and wipes at his face and oh god, is he _crying_? A low growl builds in Dick’s throat. That is—that is just _not acceptable._

He starts to leave the cauldron’s cover, but then they straighten and start to walk again as a trio, Riley with his hand on Jason’s shoulder. It looks comforting. He’s struck with the phantom feel of his own father’s hand on his shoulder, the scent of kettle corn from the night where he’d been alternately scolded and soothed for climbing into the lion’s car without supervision – _but Papa, I wanted to see the cubs!_ He tried explaining through shameful tears, lips still trembling because Dhahabu had never snarled at him like that before.

The knit mask burns in the back pocket of his stolen jeans. He takes it out and wrings it between his hands. What had he been thinking? God, what a crappy older brother he was. Thinking about scaring his little brother for fun just so he could what—show up the man who Bruce trusted to protect him? Dick sighs. One of the unfortunate consequences of growing up, was truly starting to see and understand his own faults. To realize that maybe that aspect of his personality that he’d always breezily dismissed as a performer’s love for the spotlight, was really just a selfish need to be the center of attention. Which sometimes manifested in a tendency to insert himself into situations he had no part in.

Dick stalks them as they make their way down the street, this time with an adjusted purpose, as a guardian. He starts to feel a little silly after a few blocks when it becomes clear that crime is a vague notion here – something that happens in _other_ neighborhoods. It’s such a foreign feeling it almost puts him on edge more than walking through the alleys of Gotham. He doesn’t come across anyone except for an astronaut passed out on bus stop bench and a pair of amorous housecats that streak out from under a hedge when he gets too close. So when the blare of a car alarm cuts through the night he jumps into high alert.

He darts ahead, dashing through backyards to avoid Riley and the boy’s eyes. He follows the sound until it leads him to the blinking headlights of Riley’s truck. A figure is leaning against the driver’s side, manipulating what looks like a slender length of rebar through a gap he’s wedged between the door and body with a doorstop, trying to pop the lock. Dick doesn’t have the time to skiv out of his stolen jeans and jacket down to his Nightwing persona, so he pulls the balaclava on instead. Not as sexy and stylish for sure, but it’ll keep him incognito.

“Hey! You! Stop!”

The thief turns around at his shout and does a double take.

“I was here first, asshole. Find your own damn mark,” the thief hisses and turns back to his work.

There’s a click and the thief pulls at the door handle. He leans inside and slaps around the dash until the alarm goes silent. Dick watches for a split second in consternation at the man’s rear as he crawls further into the cab. That is not usually the response he receives.

_Oh!_

Dick does a double take. With the way he’s dressed, he and this scumbag could be twins. He frowns and grabs the thief by the belt loops, hauling him back from where he’d been rifling through the glove box.

“I said, stop!” Dick growls.

“Hey, what the hell, man?” the thief carps, shooting Dick a pissed look over his shoulder and trying valiantly to mule-kick Dick in the balls.

He gets a heel worrying close to Dick’s groin. Dick grunts and kicks one of the man’s knees out in retaliation, causing him to lose his balance, breath pushed out of him in a woosh when his stomach hits the floorboard.

“Stealing is against the law!” Dick reprimands, once again trying to tug the man out of the truck.

“Yeah, so? Why the fuck do you care? Jesus frick, you on drugs or something man? Let go of me,” his opponent argues, voice pitching up a couple octaves.

The thief can’t be that old, maybe Dick’s age. Skinny and hard for Dick to keep his hands on the way he’s wriggling like an eel. He manages to squirm onto his back and land a kick to Dick’s gut. Dick grabs an ankle to keep his balance as he stumbles back a step and a half. When he straightens, the thief has armed himself – he’s got both hands raised over his head, holding the biggest pumpkin Dick thinks he’s ever seen outside of the state fair, ready to crash it down on Dick’s skull.

“FREEZE!”

Dick goes rigid in surprise, shocked into compliance from the authoritative boom behind him.

“Both of you! And you, with the pumpkin! Put it down— _gently!_ I swear if you drop it I will make you eat lead.”

Whatever the thief sees behind Dick must be threatening enough that he gives a jerky nod and slowly, _oh-so-carefully_ sets it down on the padded driver’s seat, before raising his hands back up, palms out in surrender. Dick risks a glance over his shoulder. Riley is standing, feet planted in a shooting stance twenty-feet away and Dick doesn’t think that’s a toy blaster in his hands anymore. In his peripheral he can just catch sight of Jason and Tim peeking out from behind a water fountain across the street.

“Okay, now I want both of you to get out of the truck. Don’t drop your hands, keep them in the air! That’s it. Come around and stand by the tailgate,” he coaches.

Dick and his unwanted compatriot shuffle out of the cab and down the bed.

“Mr. Jamison? The dispatcher said there’s two squad cars on their way,” a high voice pipes up, cutting the tension.

“Uh. Thanks. Thanks, Tim. But remember how we talked about how you were supposed to stay quiet?” Riley groans.

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Sorry, Mr. Jamison.”

Dick can’t suppress a chuckle. Especially not when he hears a dull smack that’s got to be Jason slapping his forehead, followed by a hushed, _“Geez, Tim.”_

On his left the would-be thief jitters. Apparently he’s not fond of the idea of just waiting for the cops to come pick them up. Dick can’t blame him. It’s not exactly a great situation for him to be in either. He needs to find some way to skedaddle before they arrive without doing anything to startle his new friend or Riley and get him shot in the ass.

“Hey man,” the thief wheedles, “Look, Imma gonna be completely honest with you. I was just looking for some cash for weed. Wasn’t gonna wreck nothing or take the car. This is, uh… Really no biggie. How about we just call it a night and go our separate ways, yeah? Just let me walk away and—”

“Just you? So you’re just going to leave your friend here?” Riley huffs.

“Friend? You mean this asshole? Oh fuck no! I got no idea who this guy is. He’s crazy, though! Just came out of nowhere and started wailing on me, he needs to go to jail. Seriously, I’ve never met him before in my life. I’m pretty sure he’s on crack or something!”

“Hey!” Dick objects, offended by the accusation. “I am not on crack!”

“But like I was saying, I was just looking for cash. I wasn’t going to take anything else. I mean, honestly not really anything in there worth taking, anyways.”

“Hey!” Now it’s Riley’s turn to be offended.

“Sorry! Sorry, but man… The stereo doesn’t even have an aux jack. I gotta friend can set you up with a nice piece for real cheap if you want, though? Comes with the codes and everything. You want Sirius XM? Then you could listen to all the Garth Brooks and Reba McEntire you want.”

Childish snickers trickle out from behind the water fountain.

“ _Oh come on, man_. Just shut up until the cops get here, okay?” Riley barks, a whine creeping into his voice.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Don’t have to be such an ass about it. Was just trying to cut you a deal, y’know?” the thief mutters.

Dick bites his lip to keep from laughing. This really shouldn’t be this funny. No, he still needs to figure out how to extricate himself before the police arrive. He needs to take this seriously, needs to focus, needs to—

NOT piss himself at the sudden thud of something solid, heavy, and malcontent landing in the bed of the truck three feet from his face.

There’s a gritty squeak of shoe soles on asphalt and a hoarse, awed, “Holy shit, it’s the Batman,” from both Riley and Dick’s sticky-fingered friend.

Oh no. No. Not this. Dick is screwed.

“I can take it from here,” the Batman growls.

He is so so screwed. The point is driven home when Bruce leans in and whispers, “What the hell do you think you are you doing?” in his ear as he zipties Dick’s wrists behind his back. Once they’re secured, Dick and the thief are roughly pulled away from the truck by the scruffs of their necks.

“I hope these fools didn’t give you too hard of a time. You’re free to go, I’ll keep watch on them until the police arrive and make sure they’re dealt with,” Batman promises Riley with an assured nod.

Now that he’s turned around, Dick can see the star-struck width of Riley’s eyes and the two boys sneaking out from their hiding place. Riley’s mouth hangs slack jawed for a minute before he regains the ability of speech.

“No sir. Thank you, sir. It’s um. It’s appreciated. Thank you. Um. Jase? Tim?” He waves the boys forward.

Jason and Tim jog up together, sticking close, shoulders and knees occasionally jostling the other. Tim almost trips, his eyes never leaving Batman’s exposed jawline to watch his feet. Riley catches him and lifts him into the car. Jason hesitates behind him, one foot lifted to step onto the running board, but then he puts it back on the ground. The boy hesitantly takes a step towards Batman.

“Uh, hey. Batman…” he fumbles for words.

“Hello, Jason. It’s good to see you again,” Batman grumbles.

Jason’s head jerks up in surprise, “You—you remember me?”

A quiet puff of air, the closest thing to Batman laughing, expels from the brooding hero’s nose. “You hit me with a tire-iron. Of course I remember you.”

Jason turns a vivid red and casts his eyes off to the side. “Oh. Yeah. Um. Before we go—I just… I just wanted to thank you. I, um. I got adopted. And I have a house now. And a family. And they’re really nice and, so thank you. For helping me.”

Dick squeaks. He can’t help it. He’d cover his mouth if he could, but his hands are zip-tied behind his back. Bruce yanks on his jacket collar, choking him off. Jason gives a little wave and climbs into the truck. Bruce, Dick, and the thief watch the taillights of Riley’s truck until they disappear around a turn in silence, an awkward trio of law-breakers.

“Oh my god. B, did you _hear_ that?” Dick squeals happily at the same time the his fellow prisoner asks, “So, no chance you’d be interested in a trade? If you let me go I know a guy—”

Batman silences them both with another gruff shake of their collars.

“You, _shut up_ ,” he hisses at the thief. “And you,” he turns to Dick, “Cave. Now. Big Trouble!”

Damn it.

Fricking Halloween.


End file.
